


The Magic In Your Hands

by ohmarqueliot



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Hand Fixation, M/M, Magic Lessons, penny is a dick, quentin is easily distracted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 01:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16254020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmarqueliot/pseuds/ohmarqueliot
Summary: Quentin and Penny are paired together for a cooperative homework assignment. Eliot gets involved, and Quentin gets distracted. Set during Quentin's first year.





	The Magic In Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been fascinated by the different ways that the characters cast the same spells. I may have spent far too much time staring at gifsets of them doing magic for research... and not as an excuse to stare at Hale's hands, absolutely not...

A loud thump broke Quentin’s concentration as a messenger bag dropped heavily on the table in front of him. He looked up from the assignment to see Penny standing on the other side of the table, the sunlight behind him making it hard to see his glower. He didn’t need to see it to know it was there. “I thought we were meeting at the cottage.”

Confused, he looked over his shoulder at the cottage right behind him. “This… is the cottage.”

He could practically _hear_ the glare intensify. “ _In_ the cottage, douche bag.”

Frowning, Quentin hunched his shoulders. “It still counts as the cottage,” he said under his breath. He wasn’t going to apologise for the fact that he’d chosen to sit outside; it wasn’t his fault that Penny didn’t know how to look out a window. It was a nice day out, and the loud music that Margo had blaring made it hard to concentrate in the common room. He certainly wasn’t going to risk asking her to turn it down, and the other option was to go and hide in his bedroom. He’d only just escaped from having to share a room with Penny – the last thing he wanted to do was have him in his space now.

The last thing he wanted was to have Penny as his partner for cooperative homework, but here they were.

“Whatever.” Penny dropped into the chair beside him, angling it to both face him and put more distance between them. “Let’s just get this over with.”

 _I’m not the one who was late,_ he thought, but decided it wasn’t worth antagonising Penny further considering he was eager to limit their time together as well. From the sharp look that Penny sent him as he pulled his bag closer and brought out a textbook, he heard it anyway.

Dropping his gaze, he focused on the barrier that he’d placed around his mind. It looked as whole as it usually did.

“Exactly,” Penny grumbled.

Ignoring him, Quentin picked up the sheet of paper that detailed the assignment and read over it one more time. “Okay, so all we have to do is spell the lyre to play the music,” he said, fumbling through the pieces of paper in front of him until he found the sheet music. He wasn’t overly familiar with reading music but it didn’t look long, and once they figured out the spell they could figure out the tune. He glanced up again to see Penny picking the lyre up from the table and plucking at a few of the strings, the notes sounding easily. “You should be careful with that.”

“And you should keep your opinions to yourself, but even if you stop talking that’s not going to happen, is it?”

Together, they went through each Popper step by step, making sure that they had the hand movements memorised in sequence before they focused on putting them together. Meeting Penny’s eye and returning his nod, Quentin took a deep breath as he centred his focus to make their first real attempt. Dropping his gaze to his hands, his whole body stiffened as he focused his energy through them, his fingers moving from one Popper to the next. His hands formed the last one and he looked up at the lyre expectantly, his shoulders slumping when the instrument remained silent.

“You were too slow,” Penny said after a moment. “We have to do it in sync, remember?”

“Maybe you were too fast,” Quentin muttered, not surprised when Penny didn’t even bother to respond.

Flexing his fingers to stretch the tired joints, he readied himself to attempt the spell again when he the sound of music from inside the house increase suddenly, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Eliot stepping through the cottage’s back door. Closing it behind him, the second-year headed over to them and dropped into the chair opposite Quentin. “You’re missing the party,” he said pointedly, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the table.

A little confused as to why Eliot would care, he frowned. He sometimes got the impression that he was trying to take him under his wing, and Quentin still couldn’t figure out why. “It’s like… two in the afternoon. On a Tuesday.”

Eliot shrugged, pulling what looked like a joint from his pocket. Moving his left hand through a familiar spell with an ease that was less familiar, he finished with a flourish and conjured a small flame to light the joint. Inhaling deeply, Eliot held the smoke for a few seconds before tilting his head back and blowing it high into the air. After a moment he glanced sideways, his smirk making Quentin feel like he’d been caught staring. He wasn’t staring, just… watching.

Taking another quick draw, Eliot held the joint in his direction with his eyebrows raised, offering it to him silently. Quentin hesitated for a moment – he appreciated the offer and kind of really loved getting high with Eliot, but he could just feel Penny’s irritated eyes on him. And even without that, he really wanted to get the spell right. “I’m trying to focus,” he said, his attempt to not sound too reluctant hardening his voice far more than he’d intended, and he worried whether Eliot would take it the wrong way – the thought of pushing him away made him want to sink in on himself.

If Eliot was bothered by his tone, he certainly didn’t show it. Shrugging, he slipped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes and relaxed further into the chair. “Suit yourself.”

It really looked like he had no intention of moving any time soon, and Quentin stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out why Eliot would be more interested in sitting outside while they studied than joining in on the party that he’d just berated him for not being a part of. Penny made an impatient, irritated noise and Quentin gave himself a shake, straightening up and turning his attention back to the spell.

It was hard to tune out Eliot’s presence, particularly when he couldn’t tell whether he was watching him or not because of the sunglasses, and he messed up the Popper sequence on their next few attempts. He tried to ignore Penny’s scowl and his muttered complaints but it was so much more difficult when Eliot was a witness to all of it, and he started to wish that he’d just go back to the party and leave him to his failure in peace. Eventually, though, he managed to tune him out, his hands forming the right shapes in the right sequence and he was _sure_ that he was perfectly in time with Penny, but still the lyre remained silent.

Frowning, he exchanged a frustrated glance with Penny before trying again, with no success. He didn’t expect to make beautiful music the first time, but none of the strings stirred at all and the silence felt mocking. A third time, and when nothing happened Penny cursed, pushing the textbook in front of him away angrily. “What part of this are you not getting?” he said derisively.

“Me? I get it. I’m not messing it up.”

“Then put some fucking effort into it, idiot!”

Scowling, Quentin rolled his shoulders to loosen some of the stress in them, shaking out his hands before bringing them into position for Popper 32. He fed his anger into the magic, and when he moved through the movements he could feel his arms trembling with the effort he put into pouring all of that energy into his hands. Curling his fingers against his palms, he pressed his thumbs together, opened his first and middle fingers to interlock with those of the opposite hand, and then twisted his hands around so they faced outwards. Pausing, he gathered all of the energy that he could and _pushed_ that toward the lyre.

Still nothing.

“ _Fuck._ ” Running his hands through his hair, he stared at the instrument with ever building frustration.

“I swear to god, Quentin, if you don’t figure this out –“

“It’s not supposed to take that much energy,” Quentin snapped, getting sick of hearing about how all of this was apparently his fault when he was doing the exact same thing that Penny was doing. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”

“Oh my god,” Eliot groaned, rubbing his hands over his face, his fingers pushing his sunglasses up in the process. The joint had disappeared. “Your bickering is killing the mood. And come on, it’s not even that hard.”

Quentin bit back the automatic retort that no one was making him sit outside with them and also, why was he sitting outside with them again? He knew he’d never get a straight answer. “If it’s so hard, then why don’t you do it?” he said instead, looking across the table at him sullenly. He hated to not be good at things. He was so damned used to not being good at things, and he just wanted _one goddamned thing_ to work for him.

Eliot’s frustration faded as a slow smile spread across his face. “Okay,” he said with a shrug, his whole demeanour changed from lazing and blithe to excitable. Settling his sunglasses more firmly on top of his head, he sat up properly. Straightening the lyre on the table, he considered it for a moment before he held out his hands before him, straight and defined, the tips of his middle fingers meeting in the middle. His fingers hands moved through a series of precise gestures far too quickly for Quentin to take them all in, but he could tell that half of the Poppers weren’t in the spell that they were trying to learn.

Before he could question it, a soft note played from the lyre, and then another and another until they weaved together into a beautiful tune. Slack-jawed, he stared at Eliot in amazement, watching him as his fingers plucked at invisible strings, his thumbs held out and bent to keep his magic connected to the lyre. Eliot grinned at him, obviously pleased with himself, but it all appeared so effortless that he couldn’t be sure if he was happy that he got the spell right or just for showing off. Knowing Eliot, it had to be the last one.

Eliot’s fingers continued to pluck at the air and the gentle music flooded through him, filling him with warmth. It was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, and he was overwhelmed with joy and wonder. His eyes drifted closed and he felt his head tilting back, every muscle in his body relaxing as the music washed away all of the worry that he held on to.

All too soon, the music slowed and then stopped, and Quentin opened his eyes reluctantly to see Eliot watching him with a peculiar look on his face. The complete and utter bliss that he felt started to fade as soon as the music stopped, but enough of it lingered that he felt peaceful and carefree and a little buzzed. _Jeez, is this what happy feels like?_

“What the hell was that?” he asked, feeling like he should be unsettled from having his mood tampered with but unable to feel anything that wasn’t _good_.

“Music magic,” he said simply, like that was the only answer he needed.

“That’s cooperative magic,” Penny said, his voice a little softer than usual and Quentin turned to look at him curiously. His eyebrows were slightly raised and a faint smile played around his lips. When he saw Quentin looking at him he brought his face into his standard scowl, but it still lacked some of the usual harshness. “And beyond the limits of the original spell,” he added, his tone pitching like normal again.

Quentin wasn’t quite so ready to let go of his high just yet. He looked back to Eliot, who was shrugging as though it were no big deal. For him, it probably wasn’t – Eliot was one hell of a magician when he actually put his mind to it. “Not the way I do it,” he said with a wink. “You have to walk before you can dance. Or play, whatever,” he added, waving his hand dismissively at the lyre before he leaned back in his chair again. Tilting his head back, he trailed his forefinger along his jaw in a graceful imitation of someone stroking their chin while deep in thought. “Either way, it’s obvious where you’re going wrong.”

That was an invitation to ask for help if Quentin had ever heard one, but he knew it was just as likely that he was teasing them, that he’d make them beg and then scold them for bothering him while he had better things to do. Of course he had better things to do… Except for the fact that he had been lazing around with them for the past half an hour, just getting stoned and eavesdropping on their failure.

He glanced across to see what Penny thought of it, but Penny was already rolling his eyes. “Are you going to help us or what?”

It seemed to be enough to appease Eliot, who linked his fingers together and twisted his hands out to stretch them. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and Quentin held back a smile at his obvious delight. Straightening up in his chair once more, Eliot looked between them thoughtfully. “Okay, my students, watch closely. And you,” he said lightly, eyes pausing on Penny, “can quit with the judgey, because you’re _both_ getting Popper 12 completely wrong.”

The problem, it turned out, was that their transition from Popper 23 into Popper 12 was causing their fingers to link at the wrong angle. Even knowing that, it was still difficult to get it right – he understood what he needed to do, but his hands continued to move automatically into the wrong form. Eliot ran through the whole spell a few times so that they could see how it worked in action, the way his fingers bent even though it felt more natural to keep them straight.

Quentin was pretty sure that Eliot didn’t have that problem anyway. His hands moved gracefully from one position to the next, with no awkwardness, no trembles, no uncertainty. He knew that his own technique wasn’t great. Alice had told him once that he put his whole body into casting and he was pretty sure that she was right, but he couldn’t help the way that the magic coursed through his whole body before he could focus it into his hands.

Eliot’s technique was flawless, his body still and poised as his elegant hands worked through quick, deft movements, and Quentin started to feel warm when he realised that he’d been paying so much attention to Eliot’s hands rather than the instructions. He was – yep, he was definitely turned on, both by way he cast with a level of confidence and sophistication that he could never hope to emulate, but also… He swallowed hard, his skin flushing when he imagined those sure fingers running down his chest and wrapping around his cock, twisting and teasing and then venturing lower, dancing over his sensitive skin before curling inside –

“ _Oh my fucking god._ ” Penny pushed himself to his feet so fast that his chair knocked over and flew backwards several feet. “That’s it, I’m out.”

Quentin caught the look on Penny’s face before he disappeared, and it was more than enough to tell him exactly what he was afraid of – that he’d seen everything. Horror grabbed a hold of him and his eyes darted to Eliot before he could stop himself. Eliot was squinting at the space that Penny had occupied in confusion, but when he looked to Quentin and saw his expression his eyes lit up in delight. “Fucking hell, Coldwater,” he said, grinning at him widely. “What the hell were you thinking at him?”

“I, ah –“ Squeezing his eyes shut, he wished for the earth to come up and swallow him. Maybe a tornado would come and take him away, or someone would shoot him with a phaser and he’d just disappear. When he opened his eyes, though, he was sitting in the same seat out the back of the Physical Kids Cottage, and Eliot was still watching him with an expression that was entirely too knowing. “Um. Nothing. I don’t know why… I’m gonna…” Shoving the lyre into its case with significant less care than he’d taken it out with, he gathered his papers and books into a pile and picked up the lot. He couldn’t take Eliot staring at him like he knew that he’d been picturing his hand tightening around him and pumping him until he spilled himself all over it and, “Oh, _fuck._ I mean, thanks, for – for – your help.” His hand slipped and he scrambled to keep everything together, miraculously not dropping anything.

When he opened the back door, he glanced over his shoulder to see Eliot’s eyes still on him and he wasn’t surprised because he was acting like a goddamned crazy person, but the considering look in his eyes and the way one side of his bottom lip was caught between his teeth were not quite what he’d expected. He wasn’t going to wait around to figure it out. Closing the door behind him, he leaned heavily against it, wondering how the hell he was going to explain that when it caught up with him later.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
